“We’ll be fine,” he said, but the quick glance he gave the still-squirmy bundle wasn’t quite as convincing.
Which, somehow, was what restored her confidence. Big man leveled by a little kitten. Yeah, it might be small of her, but it helped her scrape at least a little of her self-esteem up off the floor.
“If you need anything else-”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay.” She tried to find her calm, easygoing, polite innkeeper smile, but somehow they seemed a bit past that now. “I’ll be downstairs.”
He gave her a little salute and perched on the side of the bed. The big, fluffy, perfect-for-wild-sex sleigh bed.
“Right,” she added, apropos of nothing, then turned and all but fled the room. Before he could read on her face what was going through her head. She’d been humiliated enough for one day.
Once outside on the landing, the bedroom door safely shut between them, she’d had every intention of retreating to the main floor, heading to her rooms and doing a better job of attending her wounds. Somehow, instead she found herself hovering outside the closed door. His closed door. And listening. She told herself she was simply being a good hostess and making sure her guest didn’t get attacked by the ten ounces of terror wrapped up in that T-shirt. She told herself that. It was the making herself believe part that was a bit trickier.
There was a sudden spate of yowling, followed by the deep, soft rumblings of his voice that had her craning her neck, trying to hear what he was saying. Not that it mattered; he was obviously trying to calm the terrified kitten. She just…wanted to hear the words. She shifted closer, but it was all a softly spoken murmur. All the same, it did interesting things to her insides, listening to him. She had no idea how it was working on the kitten, although the yowling seemed to have stopped, but it would certainly have made her feel all warm and snuggly and content. Along with a few other things she doubted her four-legged guest would understand.
There was a rustling sound, followed by some other noises that she figured were Brett making something to eat for the little hellion. Just picturing him in there, being all domestic and caretaking for the tiny little furball, only served to further strengthen the warm fuzzies she was feeling. That softly crooning man, along with the one who had raced to her rescue, was such a far cry from the dusty, leather-clad, intimidating road warrior who’d shown up at her door a few hours ago. Or the man she’d ascribed him to be, given his appearance. Clearly those were at odds with the man himself. She recalled thinking upon checking him in that he’d actually been rather quiet and soft-spoken. A few hours of hard sleep, if his tousled bed head when he’d raced out to save her had been any indication, and a little shot of adrenaline had certainly livened him up.
Seeing him buck naked while she was hanging twenty feet up in a tree had certainly livened her up.
The sound of the phone ringing at the front desk on the main floor down below snapped her out of her reverie. Her heart skipped a beat, as it always did. It might be someone calling to book a room. Even though she knew it was far more likely a sales call, she clung to her optimism. Just as she turned to head down the stairs, the ringing stopped…and the door opened behind her.
She spun back around, wishing for the life of her she had something more official looking in her hands than the empty tray she’d left his room with. A clipboard, laundry cart, portable phone…something. Anything that would make it look like she hadn’t just been standing outside his door all this time…listening. “Um, hi. Can I help you?”
He frowned for a moment, but was clearly distracted and thankfully didn’t seem all that interested in following up on why she’d still be standing there. “I-wait.” He stepped into the small, third-floor landing area and pulled the door behind him. “Just in case,” he added, shuffling forward to completely shut his door, which crowded her back a little against one of the other closed bedroom doors.
The top floor basically emptied into a small landing area that fanned out toward the three doors leading to the uppermost floor’s bedrooms. And though it wasn’t big, it allowed coming-and-going traffic reasonably well. Providing all the guests weren’t coming or going simultaneously. But she’d had to tear out and rework the floor plan so that each room could have a more generous closet and its own private bathroom, so it had seemed well worth the traffic risk. Until that moment, anyway. At the moment it seemed much, much more narrow a space than she’d realized.
“I was wondering, you don’t happen to have anything like cedar chips, sawdust? Newspapers, even?”
Now it was her turn to frown. “I’ve got plenty of newspapers, but what do you need sawdust…” She trailed off as he nodded back toward his bedroom door and she realized he was referring to the kitten.
“I was worried a little on whether she was old enough to eat a bunch of regular food, so I mushed up the bread and tuna with some milk and the damn thing scarfed it up like it hadn’t been fed in days. Then I got to thinking that, you know, what goes in…”
“Right, right,” Kirby said, already on the same page.
“I could hit a drug store, or something, but thought I’d ask first.”
“I’m sure we can figure something out. Temporarily,” she added with a gauging look at his face. “Right?”
“Right. Of course. I figured I’d let her settle down some from her scare, then start making some calls tomorrow.” He propped his hands on his hips. His very lean, narrow hips. At least he’d pulled on another T-shirt. Bright blue this time. Made his green eyes look almost electric.
She kinda preferred the black one. The black flashed her back to the leather and the motorcycle and all those visuals she really didn’t need to recall. Especially when combined with the naked ones. Most especially. She realized he was waiting for her to respond and cleared her throat. “Good plan,” she said, sounding like she’d been out in the desert too long with no water. At some point she was not going to be an idiot around this man. If, perhaps, he stayed long enough.
A few weeks might do it. Or kill her.
“Glad you agree.” He folded his arms over his chest and smiled.
Okay, so kill her it was.
“Could you give me some names, places to start?”
“Sure. Let me go down and see what I can find for a litter box.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No, no bother.” She motioned to the stairs, making him aware he was going to have to move if he didn’t want her plastered up against him as she made her way past him.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, backing up against his door. “Hey, Ms. Farrell?” he said after she’d made it safely to the top step without making any actual physical contact.
Great, she thought. She was fantasizing about him scooping her up in those strong arms, holding her against that ridiculously gorgeous chest, and carrying her in to the very delicious bed that she knew lay just beyond that door. And he was Miz Farrelling her. Lovely. She supposed it could have been worse. At least he hadn’t ma’am’d her. “Yes? And please, you saved my life. It’s Kirby.”
“Kirby,” he added with another brief smile.
He was both sex on a stick and cutely adorable all at the same time. There should be a law. She tried not to swoon.
“If you tell me where the stuff is, I’ll get it.” His smile flashed to a grin for a brief moment. “I figure you’ve done about enough for the little beast for one day.” He nodded in the general direction of her body. Very general, very vague nodding…but that didn’t stop some very specific points of her body from responding. Two, in particular.
Her long-sleeve tee was a bit on the thin side, so she folded her arms in front of her, just in case. It was only midafternoon, and yet it felt like an enormously long day.
“Some of those scratches looked pretty nasty. You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, a bit mortified that not only had he seen her naked stomach in all of its not-twenty-five- anymore glory…he’d also gotten an additional eyeful of ugly, bloody scratches for the trouble. Yeah, that was the visual she wanted him to have. Definite fantasy material right there. If you were Stephen King. “They don’t feel as bad as they look,” she lied.
“If you say so.” He paused for a moment, and she’d have sworn he looked a little uncertain about what to say next, but he wasn’t ducking back into his room, either. Clearly wishful thinking on her part. Or he was trying to find the words to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Uh, no. No, that’s all. I’d-follow you down, but maybe I should go check on the beast. Make sure she hasn’t
